


Tidal Wave

by yodepalma



Series: limit break [7]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anger, But mostly angst, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, Introspection, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mostly Gen, One-Sided Attraction, Pre-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 18:11:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10747077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodepalma/pseuds/yodepalma
Summary: The punching bag shakes with the force of his blows, powder and sweat exploding from it with every hit, and the chain jangles like it’s going to break. He hopes it does. He wants to tear it apart, needs to know that something will bend to his will, so when it comes time for him to actually protect somebodyhe won’t fucking fail.





	Tidal Wave

**Author's Note:**

> This is directly connected to [shatterheart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10742058), taking place near the end of the fic when Prompto leaves Noct's apartment.

_Tidal Wave_

All Gladio can hear is the sound of his bare knuckles hitting the punching bag, but it’s better that way, better that his head is filled with the steady thumping rather than the echoes of the conversation with his father. He doesn’t want to think right now, but he can’t _shake it_ —not the facts of what Iggy has gone through, nor the calm tone his dad had mentioned them in. Even though his dad had looked so tired and _old_ , so much older than Gladio can ever remember him seeming before. Like the weight of the secret he’d been carrying had hit him all at once and he couldn’t keep the weariness hidden any more.

But it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter at all, because keeping the secret is as bad as doing the—the—and anyway Iggy is only eighteen, still _just a kid_. Was when it started too. It isn’t fair, it isn’t fucking _right_ , no kid should have to suffer like that.

He can’t help but wonder who else they’d done it to, what other kids they were going to break—and what if it was Iris, what if his _baby sister_ —

The punching bag shakes with the force of his blows, powder and sweat exploding from it with every hit, and the chain jangles like it’s going to break. He hopes it does. He wants to tear it apart, needs to know that something will bend to his will, so when it comes time for him to actually protect somebody _he won’t fucking fail_.

Maybe if he pretends it’s his dad. He hits harder, faster, his eyes burning with sweat and anger, and the bag still remains unbroken. Just like his father, like the king. Like the sons of bitches so irredeemable they could lay their hands on a child and not feel any remorse.

A sharp pain in his chest pulls him out of his head, reminds him that he needs to breathe, and he grabs the bag to stop its shaking as he drags in torturous lungfuls of air. His pulse is pounding in his ears, too hard and too fast, his heart beating like it wants to burst out of his chest. He leans his head against the bag, closing his eyes.

Behind them he sees Iggy, watches again as his green eyes widen with a terror Gladio had never seen in them before. He still doesn’t know what he should have done when Iggy bolted from him like he was a daemon.

He pushes away from the bag with a snarl, and this time when he starts swinging he imagines it’s his own stupid face instead.

He’d known damn well that Iggy hated being touched long before he’d so much as entertained a thought of kissing him, and still he’d leaned in without bothering to ask if it was okay. He had no damn self-control, that was his problem. Never had. Cor had always told him it’d get him into trouble he couldn’t force his way out of, and he’d been right, hadn’t he? Iggy was his best friend when he had so few real ones, the only person who could understand the shit Gladio had to deal with, and he’d almost thrown that away for what? A kiss, a night in his bed, a relationship that obviously was doomed from the fucking _start_?

The sweat in his eyes is starting to make his vision blur. It _must_ be sweat, it can’t be anything else. He hasn’t cried in years. Why the fuck would he start now?

He pauses only long enough to wipe his face with the bottom of his tank top, lifts his fist for another round—and has to pull his arm back abruptly as Prompto appears out of nowhere. Pain spears through all the muscles in his shoulder and half of his back.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarls. Prompto flinches at the volume of his voice, but otherwise he seems oddly solid, as immovable as everything Gladio wants to tear down. Gladio stares down at him, angry and baffled and angry _because_ he’s baffled, and Prompto stares back with his mouth set in a firm line. His hands are flat on Gladio’s chest like he’s going to push him, as if he’d be able to get Gladio to move an inch, and they feel strangely cool to his overheated skin. “I coulda knocked your fucking head off!”

“You d-didn’t even hear me before, did you?” Prompto asks, an unusual anger hardening his soft voice. He squares his shoulders, visibly tensing in preparation for an argument. “Gladio, you’re _bleeding_. You need to stop.”

Gladio has never seen this kid anything but cheerful, all bad puns and sunshine, and this new side of him has Gladio so wrong-footed he actually looks at his hand instead of yelling at him to back off. He blinks at the sight of his split knuckles, makes a fist to see more blood well up in the wounds. “Didn’t even notice,” he says, though the dull ache sharpens as he continues staring. “Forgot to wrap my hands.”

The pain is strangely calming, feels more real than anything else tonight. He flexes his hand and revels in the sting. Prompto makes a little noise of disgust.

“Where’s your bandages?” Prompto asks, and now he does give a sharp push. Gladio’s so surprised by the aggression he allows himself to be moved. “We gotta clean them, they’ll get infected.”

Gladio starts to say he’ll take care of it himself, but the steely glint in Prompto’s eyes makes his jaws snap shut. It’s a look he knows all too well, one he’s gotten from every medic who’s ever tried to talk him out of jumping right into training after being healed.

“This way,” he finally says with a defeated sigh. He doesn’t wait for Prompto when he walks off, figuring he’ll either keep up or he’ll leave, and he heads toward a small room across the hall. It’s no medic’s room, but it holds a shower and a sink and a cabinet packed with enough medical supplies to stock a hospital. Amicitias are not known for taking their training lightly.

Gladio opens one of the cabinet doors under the sink and gestures vaguely to it as he washes his hands. Prompto takes the invitation for what it is, rummaging noisily. When Gladio steps back from the sink, snagging one of the hand towels to dry off, Prompto jerks up and bangs the back of his head.

“Idiot,” Gladio mutters.

“ _You_ shut up,” Prompto says. He backs away from the cabinet with a handful of supplies and dumps them on the counter so he can wash his hands too. “I’m not the one bleeding.”

“Not this time, anyway,” Gladio agrees, and smirks at the glare Prompto throws over his shoulder.

The other towel is sacrificed to Prompto’s wet hands as he turns around and leans on the sink. “You should sit down,” Prompto says. “You’re too tall.”

“You mean you’re too short,” Gladio counters, but he sits on the edge of the tub anyway. His gesture toward a stool is probably lost as Prompto rolls his eyes, but the kid must be more observant than Gladio gives him credit for. He pulls the stool over and collapses onto it, then stretches behind himself to reach the supplies he left on the sink.

Prompto grabs one of Gladio’s hands and pulls it into his lap. He doesn’t seem nervous at all as he smears antibiotic cream over Gladio’s knuckles, even when the cream turns pink with Gladio’s blood. The two of them have never been this close before. Hardly ever been alone together. Gladio has certainly never gotten the opportunity to observe him like this, never gotten to admire this frown of angry determination or the slant of his big, blue eyes. Has he always been this…pretty?

Prompto glances up and catches Gladio staring. His face flushes red and he looks away, hastily screwing the cap back onto the tube of cream and then reaching for the roll of gauze. Gladio’s eyes follow the line of his body, but he shrugs the stirring interest away with irritation. He’s already ruined one friendship with shit like this. He isn’t going to do it to this kid too.

“Y’know, Ignis has been hanging around a lot lately,” Prompto says quietly. He’s probably just trying to fill up the silence, but this is the one thing Gladio’s not prepared to talk about. “He’s been really jumpy whenever we get too close.”

Gladio’s the source of that. He avoids Prompto’s eyes, turning his face to the wall and staring at the rose pattern on the tiles as if he doesn’t already have it memorized.

“R-right,” Prompto says with a familiar nervousness. “S-so, this kid in our history class today….”

Gladio mostly tunes out his words. Prompto’s hands are steady as he wraps the gauze around Gladio’s hand and chatters relentlessly at the same time. It’s interesting how sure he is of himself, how smoothly he cuts the gauze when he’s usually so clumsy he can’t even eat and walk at the same time.

“Thank you,” Gladio says sincerely. Even Prompto’s ears turn red as he gestures for Gladio’s other hand, taking the towel from him and using it to dab at the blood that streamed down Gladio’s fingers while neither of them were paying attention to it. Prompto mumbles something dismissive, but he’s taken care of Gladio’s hands better than Gladio would have himself. “I mean it, kid. You didn’t have to do this.”

Prompto’s still blushing when he looks up again to give Gladio a shy smile. "Well _someone_ has to keep an eye on you."  
  
He’s damned cute, but Gladio isn’t fooled by it any more. There’s something darker hiding behind that glowing smile, something different from Iggy’s well-hidden fear and Gladio’s own towering rage, and he thinks he might want to find out what it is one day.

**Author's Note:**

> idk guys gladio just likes pretty things?? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
